


Ten Feet Down (But I'll Be Rising Up)

by sweeterthankarma



Series: Pride Month Prompts 2020 [9]
Category: Into the Night (TV 2020)
Genre: Bonding, F/F, Post-Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:33:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24630850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweeterthankarma/pseuds/sweeterthankarma
Summary: The bunker isn’t ideal by any means but it’s not exactly awful, either. This is what Ines tries to convince herself.
Relationships: Sylvie Bridgette Dubois/Ines Mélanie Ricci
Series: Pride Month Prompts 2020 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1769956
Comments: 28
Kudos: 10





	Ten Feet Down (But I'll Be Rising Up)

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Pride Month and welcome to my first ever month-long fic challenge! For thirty days, I'll be writing and posting LGBTQ+ fics inspired by the prompts listed [here](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/517562182177703635/). These fics will be anywhere from 100-1,500 words, will be for different fandoms, ships and characters, and will all stand alone. Here goes nothing!
> 
> Day 9 Prompt: Parsley.
> 
> Title comes from the song "Ten Feet Down" by NF and Ruelle.
> 
> This is the first fic ever posted for this tiny, rather nonexistent fandom but I certainly hope that there'll be more content in the future, besides from just me! This show is so unique and compelling and has great characters, so I definitely recommend checking it out on Netflix!

The bunker isn’t ideal by any means but it’s not exactly _ awful,  _ either. This is what Ines tries to convince herself. 

It’s dark and dusty and it’s either too quiet or too loud at any given time, but at least Ines is on the ground — or, well,  _ under  _ it— and not woozy from being airborne for days on end.  There’s no way to have any secrecy when voices carry in the main hall, but she hasn’t got much to say anyway, and she knows by now that it’s far better to be with other people in times like these than to be alone. 

The corridors are long and winding and easy to get lost in, so she treads them with caution each day, never without a fully charged walkie talkie in her back pocket at all times, connecting her to the soldiers on the likely event that she takes a wrong turn and panics.  Sylvie and the others mess around with wires and motherboards and electrical currents, doing their hardest to create a solution, a livable future beyond these walls, and as much as Ines wants them to succeed, prays every day to whatever gods exist for them to do so, she isn’t sure that she really believes they can. The entire situation is unfathomable, apocalyptic, admittedly close to hopeless. Nearly every day Ines wakes up and is convinced for at least a few seconds that she’s back in New York City, video blogging and doing fan meetups and eating out at white tablecloth adorned penthouse grills. Those brief memories, so clear they almost feel real, have become her only source of relief, but they’re bittersweet, tinged with longing that’s almost painful. She knows going back to do it all again wouldn’t feel the same. 

No matter. It’s not like she has the choice, anyway. 

Ines has decided that out of everything, she misses food the most, tied with her friends and her dog. She says this to Sylvie, who sits by her side eating a dinner of saltines and corn for the fifth time this week. A cold, sticky pile of elbow noodles sits in a bowl between them, untouched and desperately lacking butter. Sylvie looks about as enthused as Ines feels at the lack of variety before them. 

“I wish it was our turn,” Sylvie agrees, voice muffled by the styrofoam cup raised to her lips. They’ve got a system here in the bunker, alternating the best food around in groups so that everyone gets a fair share of different meals with the necessary nutrition, as sparse as it may be. Tonight is chicken, likely dry and served with nothing else as it's considered a luxury, but the thought of having even a single bite makes Ines’s stomach rumble nonetheless. 

“I know,” she replies. She watches Sylvie bite down on a saltine, discouraged, and chew slowly. Her eyes are tired, the skin beneath them hollowed and darkened from drudgery, exhaustion. She brightens at the same time Ines does, though, when she says “aha!”, whisper-yelling as to not draw too much attention to them. She digs around in her backpack and grins when her fingertips brush against what she’s looking for. Jackpot.

“What have you got?” Sylvie asks, and Ines lifts it up by way of response: a small, slim aluminum packet that had been stowed away at the bottom of her luggage, in between sweatpants and her last clean bra. Ramen seasoning. 

“I stole it from the plane,” she explains. “Should we open it now? The pasta could use it.”

Sylvie swallows her sip of water and reaches for the pack, fingers brushing against Ines’ ever so slightly in the process. She looks at it a bit in awe, reading the label and mouthing the words as if it says anything special, but Ines gets it. It’s one of the last signs of the real world. One of the last things they have left. 

“It’s basically just parsley and salt, but it’s better than nothing,” Ines says to fill the silence. “God, what I wouldn’t do for a bowl of ramen right now.”

Sylvie raises her eyebrows at that. “I didn’t think you’d touch carbs with a stick, much less consume minute noodles,” she says. It’s meant to be a jab, but there’s a soft smile on her lips, especially as she goes to tear open the packet and looks at Ines for confirmation to do so. She nods eagerly. 

“Any kind of pasta was always my favorite,” Ines shares. “And French fries too, those were my guilty pleasure.”

Sylvie lets out a groan of agreement, reminiscing. She rolls back her sweatshirt sleeves as she dumps the seasoning into the noodles, forcibly stirring it with a flimsy plastic spoon. “Mine too. We’re Belgian through and through, huh?”

The pasta’s better with the seasoning. The flavors don’t entirely match, but it’s something new ,  exciting, even . Hell, it’s almost entertainment. They put it on the bread— a bad idea— and on the corn— a surprisingly better idea, though it defeats the purpose of consuming vegetables in the first place— and Sylvie laughs, knees bumping with Ines’, as she licks the last of the spices straight from the packet.

Things could be worse, Ines tells herself. Things could be far worse. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi and celebrate pride month with me on Tumblr [here.](https://sweeterthankarma.tumblr.com/)


End file.
